Not a Bother at All
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: Tumblr Whouffle Prompt: Could you do a story where it's Twelve taking care of Clara instead of Eleven?


"What's wrong with your face?"

Clara nodded acceptingly as she stepped out of the way of the man emerging from the Tardis, his bushy brows dropped in confusion over his eyes. Eyes that seemed to slide over her features as his body leaned away and then forward again while she sighed.

"You've deflated your eyes," he commented with a quick point. Then he offered a smug smile, "I appreciate you finally giving in to my request."

On a groan, Clara responded, "I've not given in to a request, and I've not deflated my eyes, Doctor. I've got a cold."

"Well raise the thermostat," he chided absently, turning to walk away from her before he swung around again, "I take it you didn't mean the literal temperature and that you mean to say your body's been infested with a strain of the influenza virus?"

Head tilting to her left, she began, "Yes, and while I'm sure your Gallifreyan immune system can handle a pesky human…" but his Sonic was out, giving her body a once over before he nodded and drifted into the kitchen, Clara slow to follow.

"We'll need tea," he shot back at her.

"I'll need a bit of rest and less of the bother."

His head popped out from the kitchen just as she reached it, devious smile on his cracked face, "By bother, do you refer to me?"

"Yes," she huffed.

He scoffed, "Nonsense," and swung back into the kitchen as Clara closed her eyes, head shaking as she managed a small smirk, hearing him say, "Bothers don't curve lips in the manner in which yours are."

"Doctor," she moaned, "Honestly, just get back to the Tardis, skip a few days ahead and we can head off to the planet of your choosing."

"Nonsense," he muttered again, and she watched him begin to pluck items from her cabinets before turning to her fridge to pull it open, giving her a stern forefinger and a rough, "Never walk away, haven't I told you – we never…"

"Walk away," she finished on a weak laugh before reaching out to grip his finger and gently bring it down, stepping into him to tell him, "Doctor, this isn't the end of the world, it's a stuffed nose and watery eyes and a slight headache and an even slighter temperature."

He brought the back of his free hand up to test her head and she closed her eyes absently when his palm cupped her cheek and then slid to her neck, her body shivering slightly as he whispered, "You're ill and I've got just the remedy."

His hand slipped away as the air left her lungs and she opened her eyes to see him filling her tea pot with water, an occasional item sprinkled in as he flicked on her stove. Clara crossed her arms and leaned against the fridge to tease, "How've you got just the right remedy for what ails me?"

He smiled then, his fervor or motion coming to a standstill to give her a genuine smile as he teased back, "Isn't it obvious, Clara? I'm your Doctor."

Giggling, Clara took a step towards him, glancing into the tea pot to see an assortment of spices, and a bit of a banana, already festering inside, just before the Doctor covered it over and she was surprised when his arm came up around her shoulders, fingers gripping at her before he gave her arm a small pet of reassurance. She smirked up at him and he nodded his head towards the door, mouthing a silent, "Go."

Sluggishly, she made her way into her living room, responding to the odd warble of concern that came from the Tardis with a brush of her hand over the blue wood. A small grip and a pet, just as the Doctor had given her, and she pulled the throw back up from her couch, slinging it around her body before dropping onto the cushions. Just beside the Tardis, she looked out through the bit of window still visible to the blue sky, watched a set of birds chirp as they circled one another and before she knew it, she was being shaken awake to the smell of tea and the sight of eyes like oceans, staring back at her.

"Ah, good," he smiled, "You're awake."

She managed a chuckle, pulling herself up to sit to take the cup he handed her. Clara took a sip as the Doctor gestured at her with both hands – his encouragement for her to drink more – and she coughed a bit, the light taste of banana mingling with ginger and honey and a spot of… wine? She decided it was best not to think, but merely to trust, as she continued to slowly drink, feeling the Doctor weigh down the cushion beside her.

"You'll still need rest," he warned, "And I'll make you a soup in a bit, keep the belly warm." She heard the Sonic buzz and she hummed a laugh. "Any better?"

Clara nodded slowly, setting the empty cup on the small table at her left. She looked to the man lightly tapping his hands on his knees, lips pulled tightly together between his teeth, brow raised high, body rigid, hair like a fluffy storm cloud atop his strange head. She shifted forward and nestled into his side, resting her head at his chest as she hugged him, feeling him tense for just a moment before he melted back into the couch with a soft laugh.

"What's this?" He questioned lightly.

She shifted her chin to sit atop his breast, giving him a tired smile before dropping her cheek back against him to say, "You told me once that I don't run out on the people I care about – that you wished you were more like that."

He was silent a moment, and Clara could feel his eyes on her, his mind working over what he should say, and then she felt his left arm shift out of her grip and over her head. There was a light laugh, short and unexpected as he settled his arm atop the sofa, allowing her to drop closer to his warmth. On a sigh, he told her, "Maybe it's because the way our lives intersect, usually by the time I realize I care, they're gone."

"Or maybe you're afraid," Clara corrected, hearing him huff.

"Afraid," he spat, "I've been around this universe a thousand times. Faced enemies unimaginable. What could I possibly be afraid of?"

Clara sighed, "That you're a bother." She listened to his silence, and the honking of a car in the distance, before she elaborated, "We all get a little afraid sometimes, that we don't matter as much to others as they matter to us. And sometimes we get afraid we matter too much. Even a Time Lord can be so afraid he severs the ties before he can fully digest what they mean."

"Clara Oswald, I do believe you're delirious," the Doctor muttered quietly. Sadly. And she hugged him more firmly as she listened to his heartbeats quicken.

Fingertips brushing lightly over his side, she sighed, "I was going to say you're getting better at not running out."

"Well, I couldn't very well run out on you giving me pathetic sick eyes," he stated quickly. "Or the pout," he added, "Don't think I missed the pout." Clara laughed. "Always doing things with the face," the Doctor teased under his breath.

She sighed, counting the beats of his hearts, measuring them as they calmed. Then she told him quietly, almost meekly, "Don't you ever run out on me, Doctor."

His hand brushed over her hair until he was sure she'd drifted to sleep, the weight of her words wrapped around him like the warmest blanket. She knew he cared, she knew he cared too much, and she knew that did make him afraid. With a sigh, he looked down at her hand resting comfortably atop his stomach, fingers gripping delicately to the sweater he wore, her pinky dug just inside one of the holes.

Looking to the sky outside, drifting away from the blues of day to the purples of night, he closed his mind against the reality that he left because he cared too much. He always left because he didn't want to watch the people he cared about wither away from him. He held onto at least that much control over his interactions with humans. But this was Clara, he laughed lightly, turning his eyes back to her.

The Doctor settled his hand at her collar, thumb giving her jawline the smallest of taps as he whispered with the faintest of smiles, "Yes, ma'am."


End file.
